


Dear Barawa,

by jeunesse



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, subtle chatbara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 18:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeunesse/pseuds/jeunesse
Summary: Barawa's past, a thief, and an innate dislike of letters.





	Dear Barawa,

**Author's Note:**

> For Crosswinds, a Granblue Fantasy tarot project (@gbf_tarot).
> 
> Two of Wands: decisions, fear of unknown, discovery, future planning and lack thereof.

Join the military, they said. You’d fit right in, they said. You could be a hero, they said.

At the time, Barawa had fallen for those words hook, line, and sinker.

A month in, he regretted every life decision that led up to a bruised and tired body, the constant stench of sweat, and the barest of sleeping accommodations. The strict training regimen and rigid schedule was mind-numbingly tiresome. He didn’t have friends, and he didn’t remember the last time he had a proper conversation—soldiers, it turned out, weren’t very good conversationalists, except when drunk. And that’s _if_ they didn’t start a bar fight.

But a month ago he was broke and homeless, nobody seemed to want to hire him, and his only appeal was his strength. So despite it all, Barawa set his jaw and marched on forward.

And who knew. Maybe he would become a hero.

-

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

One year, two years, three years, minor skirmishes won and lost, guard duty, patrols, monster extermination. He did well, and he didn’t. The work came naturally to him, but he didn’t relish the fighting. Medals and accolades from combat weren’t so glorious once he experienced it for himself, yet it never occurred to him to leave. Throughout the years Barawa had come to convince himself that this was what he was good at—the _only_ thing he was good at. Finding a place in the world was difficult enough, and he no longer had the luxury of time to find another one. He’d stick to the army, retire at an appropriate age, get his pension, and…

Barawa couldn't see much of his path past that point, if at all. There was only darkness, and an accompanying sensation of quiet helplessness.

-

His first encounter with Chat Noir was by complete accident.

Some pompous doofus calling himself a Phantom Thief had sent a calling card to Vas, who in turn requested extra security detail. Barawa owed Vas, so even though he thought this whole situation was a silly overblown mess, he agreed to help.

It turned out that the extra guards weren’t enough, and that Chat Noir wasn’t only infuriatingly elusive, but an insufferable ass. He had somehow escaped—despite Barawa cornering him—in a whirlwind of blindingly white capes, sickeningly sweet perfume, and trails of laughter.

( _“An unexpected ambush,” Chat Noir said, astonishment melting away into a grin. Barawa decided to not mention he had just been looking for the restroom. “The first surprise in a while. And to who do I owe the honor?”_ )

“Something good happen?” Vas asked after debriefings were over.

“Huh?”

“You look giddy. As excited as a child. You won’t stop fidgeting either.”

( _Barawa found himself dizzy from darting this way, dancing that way, spinning and changing directions to the tune of a burglar._

_“Cease this at once!” he yelled, leaping over the carcasses of discarded pill bugs. He wasn’t sure if his screaming was ire at Chat Noir, or at the unavoidable crunch of insects under his boots._

_Chat Noir turned around for a brief moment, but it was long enough for Barawa to see the thief’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “But you look like you’re enjoying yourself.”_ )

“No, no, not at all. I’m angry, if anything,” he said, but even to his own ears, his voice sounded anything but. “I didn’t catch him in the end. It’s frustrating.”

Vas gave him a contemplative look. “ _Do_ you want to catch him?”

( _“Adieu, my good Barawa.” Chat Noir bowed with all the grandeur of a prince and the moon at his back. When he looked up again, his expression was obscured by shadows, but Barawa didn’t need light to know he was smiling. “Perhaps we will meet again.”_ )

Barawa snorted. “That damned thief? I don’t want to see his face ever again.”

-

A week later, Barawa resigned from duty to chase after Chat Noir.

There were plenty of raised eyebrows and voiced concerns. A career change? Where would he live? Was he going to earn enough money? Did he even know the first thing about being a detective?

He didn’t. But it’d be fine; he had faith. Faith, and the first calling card he had ever personally received, the words _Dear Barawa_ sprawling across the paper.

-

Barawa never dreamed of having an assistant. He hadn’t known he could even have one as a private investigator, but he woke up early one morning to see Sarya on his doorstep, asking if The Great Detective Barawa was looking for an apprentice.

Sarya was smart. More than smart. She was sensible, observant, young, and capable. Frankly, Barawa didn’t understand why she came to him for work, much less stayed for more than a week. It had only taken one hour for her to see through his bluffing and blustering.

But at the end of the day, instead of going home and pretending she’d never seen some washed up man stumble around trying to find a lost cat for a living, she gave him a book.

“Please,” Sarya said. “ _Please_. Read this by tomorrow.”

The book was titled _The ABC’s of Logic_. When he got home, he cracked it open, saw the length of the first paragraph, and closed it. Barawa told her as much the next day, and though she didn’t seem very surprised, she gave him another book. And another. And another.

At least his desk was starting to look like a real detective’s.

Eventually she stopped giving him books, and when Barawa thought, at last, this was it, this was when she would stop coming, she showed up the next day to help find another lost cat.

Barawa treated her to coffee and pretended he hadn’t cried.

-

The calling cards began to trickle in.

While his first meeting with Chat Noir was accidental, there was no fate or chance in their subsequent meetings. Each card was deliberately placed on his desk, on his pillow, in his pocket. Always neatly written, disgustingly perfumed, and—unlike the first card which began with _Dear Barawa_ —aggravatingly, affectionately addressed to _Beloved Barawa_.

“More importantly,” Sarya said, tentatively sniffing the card and jotting something down in her casebook, “this means Chat Noir knows where you live, Detective. Shouldn’t you move?”

“Elementary, my dear Sarya,” Barawa said, wagging a finger. “Chat Noir would find my new address regardless. That’s the kind of depraved man he is.” In a less grandiose voice, he added, “Also, I’m poor.”

Sarya pursed her lips for a moment, as if to keep whatever she wanted to say from coming out, and went back to sorting through her notes.

-

One time, Sarya did ask what everyone else had asked before.

“Why did you become a detective?” When Barawa opened his mouth, forming a familiar “ch” shape, Sarya cut him off. “I understand _why_ , and I admire your single-mindedness and dedication, but even the Bureau of Investigation offered you a position. You didn’t have to be a private investigator.” She suddenly gestured to his messy room, his unkept hair, and an empty pantry. “We haven’t had a proper paying job in weeks, and you could’ve had a stable career.”

He replied with the same answer he had given to everyone who asked. “I had a plan. I _have_ a plan.”

Sarya’s eyebrows shot up, incredulous. “What is it?”

“Catching Chat Noir.”

She didn’t press him again, and instead filled the silence with reminders to take a bath and eat some food.

-

The Café Kitten was a haven. It was Barawa's retreat after staring at incomprehensible riddles for hours. The place to get the perfect pick-me-up after working late nights at his age.

Cathy set down his usual drink before him and leaned against the counter top. “Someone looks tired. Another long case?”

“Another fraud.” He sighed, massaging his temples. “With every real calling card, we get three more fakes. I haven’t been home in two weeks because of them.”

“That must be exhausting. You detectives really are poor things, going on a wild goose chase across the skydom.” She tutted sympathetically, but her smile was strangely teasing.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be this tiring. We know how to tell the fakes from the real deal, so we don’t _have_ to go after every trail, but…” He paused, his grip tightening around his glass. “Chat Noir always appears regardless.”

“Does he? And why would he bother with fakes?”

Barawa took a long swig before pounding his fist against the counter. “His damn pride!” He lowered his voice to a grumble and rubbed the wood apologetically when Cathy narrowed her eyes. “He's nothing but pride. Has to prove to everyone he's the One and Only Chat Noir.” He sighed, slumping over. “Maybe I should just quit. I’m not cut out for this. I’m only going to get older, and I’m only going to get more tired.”

“Now, now,” Cathy said. “Don’t say that. It’s only a phase.” When Barawa snorted in response, she crossed her arms and continued. “Quitting now would be a waste. Look at everything you’ve gained. An exciting lifestyle, a trustworthy assistant, and a name for yourself. Not many people get to be in your position.”

“Anyone who tries to spend a day in my shoes would turn tail in an hour. It’s nothing to envy.”

Cathy hummed contemplatively. “But deep inside, doesn’t a part of you enjoy it? This Chat Noir fellow may drag you around, but you decide to follow anyway, and you keep pushing your body and mind to the fullest extent like a true detective.” She smiled and winked. “You're certainly suited for this line of work.”

Barawa felt his face turn warm, and, unsure of what to do, took a sip of his suddenly too sweet drink.

“Well,” he mumbled into his glass, “if you’re the one saying so, I suppose you’re right.” He let out an awkward, but genuine, laugh. “It’s probably just a phase.”

After another sip, he sighed again. “Though it doesn't change the fact that I still have work. I'm headed off again in a few hours.”

“So soon? Where to this time?”

“Some island called Palapagos.”

-

A large part of Barawa knew that Chat Noir was childish, even before landing on Palapagos Island. It was difficult to ignore that aspect when over the years Chat Noir had snuck toads into his bathtub, stolen his underwear and flew it on a flagpole, and shaved his carefully maintained beard while he was asleep. A tinier part of Barawa knew that he was also childish for reacting so explosively—though he'd never admit it.

But when he saw Chat Noir at a loss for the first time, he saw a child, small and frozen with fear, staring at the insurmountable wall that was Reinbach. There was no grandeur, no flourish, no brilliance that shone in his every action. There was only the dark, and a quiet helplessness.

And just as Chat Noir had barreled into his life, promised him thrilling days, and led him across the skies, Barawa decided that after all these years, it was only fair to return the favor.

So he barreled in.

-

_Dear Barawa,_

_Please accept this formal invitation to the greatest show of a lifetime._

_The stage is set and waiting for you._

_Chat Noir_


End file.
